


“The Edge of the Moment (or, Worthwhile)”

by crieshavoc



Series: The Smile Jar [7]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, progeek, the smile jar verse, the usual Rachel introspection vibe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:28:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28139202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crieshavoc/pseuds/crieshavoc
Summary: Progeek College AU: "They’re sitting at their kitchen table[,] when Cosima dares to shift the status quo between them. Rachel knows when the tension started, when Delphine came along, but they’ve never acknowledged it, not really." End of senior year, on the brink and beyond it.
Relationships: Rachel Duncan/Cosima Niehaus
Series: The Smile Jar [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061450
Comments: 5
Kudos: 4





	“The Edge of the Moment (or, Worthwhile)”

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a very long time. Feedback is welcome and encouraged!

_Cross-posted from[tumblr](https://cries-havoc.tumblr.com/post/637790393229066240/alright-so-six-fucking-years-ago-anon-asked):_

_ Alright, so,  _ six fucking years ago _ ,  _ **_Anon asked: “_ ** **_When will there be a first move on the progeek college au?”_ ** _ Now, I know it’s, ah, been a while, friends, but better late than never? As usual, it’s fitting. Art reflects life reflects art, and such. _

\--

“The Edge of the Moment (or, Worthwhile)”

They’re sitting at their kitchen table, a chaotic space crammed with overlapping piles of textbooks, notebooks, lab reports packets secured with inch-long industrial staples, used coffee mugs, a stray ruler, and one small plate with a half eaten piece of rye roast with butter, barely a month before left the end of spring term, senior year, when Cosima dares to shift the status quo between them. Rachel knows when the tension started, when  _ Delphine _ came along, but they’ve never acknowledged it, not really. Not when Delphine first invaded the calm quietude they’d achieved in  _ their _ apartment. Not when Cosima set off the smoke alarm trying to make breakfast without waking Rachel the first morning  _ after _ , nor even when that disaster turned into Rachel making  _ the three of them  _ breakfast. Not when Comina started drunk texting Rachel she’d rather be at home with her while out on dates with the taller blonde. Not when Delphine casually, oh so casually, mentioned that Cosima would, of course, move in with  _ her _ after graduation and watched their expressions so closely, looking hard at the blossoming recognition, in stereo, that the excuse of being roommates had worn thin at last.

Cosima has been distracted all day, looking up every few minutes from her laptop screen, worrying her lip and inhaling deeply like she was about to start rambling (like  _ normal _ , or what was normal for four damn years), but she keeps backing away from the edge of the moment. Rachel is well-accustomed to the feeling of her roommate’s eyes on her skin and manages to keep her composure, but it is a struggle that maybe, finally, isn’t worth the effort anymore. Rachel just about makes up her mind to be brave, finally, but (like usual) she’s just a moment too late.

Sounding half strangled, Cosima says, “You know, Delphine said something really interesting last night.” She inhales and exhales deeply again, waiting.

Rachel considers the bait, the lede, and bites. “Did she now?” She sits back in her chair, pushing up to teeter on the two back legs, as patient as she’s learned how to be.

The afternoon light tilts and wanes, casting dim shadows that blunt the edges of the room, the cabinets, Cosima’s day-old eye makeup. Rachel remembers the first time she noticed how bright and soft Cosima’s eyes look when the light catches them just right - warm brown like cinnamon with glimpses of moss so green she could smell the forests up North at the cabin her step-father rented when she was a girl. A story for another time, that.

“Yeah, she, well -” Cosima’s voice cracks, like she’s actually nervous talking to Rachel of all people, and her breathing accelerates.

Rachel leans her chair back down to rest on all four legs, solid, and plants her bare feet on the floor, distantly thinking they really ought to sweep the cereal and toast crumbs up. It’s been weeks since Delphine, of all people, finally cracked their façade, and their shared space, their  _ home _ , has suffered for their drawn out denials and avoidance. Rachel almost isn’t even afraid any more. Undergrad is almost over, after all, it’s time to grow up.

“- she was bugging me about grad school, again,” Cosima scoffs and flips her hand dismissively, rolling her eyes in lightning-quick agitation, “like I hadn’t already told her - whatever. That’s not the point,” Cosima pauses again, sighing heavily, and Rachel almost interjects, suddenly wondering if maybe the safer option  _ is  _ still to pretend.

Almost.

“We ended up arguing about you, about  _ us _ , again,” Cosima gestures between them and Rachel nods, sagely, as if her palms aren’t sweating so much she drops her pen, twice. Cosima grabs it, the second time, fiddling with it a moment and blushing so suddenly it seems to leave her breathless. “And she said that, maybe, I should be dating you instead of her and then we wouldn’t have to stop living together and I could just go to grad school and you could go to business school, and, well, keep living our lives like we… have… been, already.” Cosima’s eyes dart away, and back, and away again, boldness faltering.

Rachel studies Cosima in return, face blank and breathing perfectly controlled. The sunlight has moved further and the shadows are drawing longer as the afternoon slips toward evening. Rachel breathes in through her nose, taking in the stale smell of this morning’s coffee and the musky perfume her roommate started buying sophomore year after Rachel told her how much she liked it ( _ no _ , they’ve never talked about that either).

“That is a rather interesting thing for her to say, but I suppose she can’t be an idiot all the time, even if she is French,” Rachel shrugs, reaching out and taking her pen back from between Cosima’s unresisting fingers, watching her roommate shudder at the contact. Rachel feels a familiar warmth settle in her gut as her words settle between them.

“I broke up with her, well,” Cosima has the decency to wince, “she broke up with me, and she  _ did _ wish us well, but I’m not so sure she actually meant it.”

Rachel laughs, smiling, and stands to put another dollar in the Jar. “I highly doubt she did, but we won’t hold that against her.”

Cosima still feels guilty, Rachel knows. There’s something different in how she fidgets, but it’s a start. 

Coming back to the table, Rachel stops with her hand on Cosima’s shoulder. “What do you want?” Her tone is meant to be neutral, not typically something Rachel struggles with, but even she can hear the raw hope in her voice.

Resting her chin in one hand and twisting to look up at Rachel, Cosima’s narrows her eyes thoughtfully, “I mean, I could be really cheesy and just say “you,’ but that’s not really our style, is it?”

Rachel considers this, blood thumping in her ears, “No, it’s not.” She squeezes her hand once and goes back to her seat, to her grueling senior thesis about the intricacies of enforcing actionable penalties across national borders following patent law rulings in a cross-section of emerging economies in the Global South, as if the poles of her world haven’t gone completely haywire. They transition into the very real, very important, and long-overdue conversation about which post-sec programs they are going to attend, in which country and city, and how much they’re willing to pay in rent like there was never any question they’d end up here.

Honestly, Rachel stopped questioning their connection years ago. They were always going to end up here (maybe), and now they have. The fact of it, almost anticlimactic after so much prologue, brings a rose blush of hindsight to four years of pining and frustration (and laughter and joy and a richer palette of life than Rachel had known how to participate in before) that, from this moment forward, seem rather less strenuous. Worthwhile.

They’re quiet again for a few hours and then, somehow, because Rachel knows she was - just a moment ago - washing dishes in their sink; now her wet, soapy hands are trailing over Cosima’s braids, her neck, and down her back while Cosima’s thumbs dig painfully under her jaw, hands holding her head desperately, and all Rachel can think, not bothering to resist a wide smile even as the taste of Cosima’s lips and mouth overwhelms every other coherent thought, is that they really ought to buy a much bigger jar after they move. 


End file.
